


in the shape of things to come

by clayisforgirls



Series: the gm patrick kane verse [2]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, post-retirement, timestamps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:26:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26307049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clayisforgirls/pseuds/clayisforgirls
Summary: The further adventures of general manager Patrick Kane.Timestamps which take place in the same 'verse astake the plan, spin it sideways.
Relationships: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews
Series: the gm patrick kane verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1910203
Comments: 17
Kudos: 155





	1. may 2033

**Author's Note:**

> Sadly, the first timestamp does not feature wonder rookie Owen Cooper, but he'll definitely turn up at some point.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You can’t play _what if_ all night,” Jonny interrupts. “You can’t change anything now, Pat. It’s up to Spence to figure it out, and the guys on the ice to listen.”

Patrick never thought that the nerves before a game seven would be worse than when he was playing. He remembers late nights in hotel rooms, unable to sleep, trying to figure out what went wrong, how to tweak his game. Figuring out ways to play faster or smarter or _different_. Figuring out how he can help his team win.

Except when he’s not on the ice, there isn’t a way he can change the game with a single shot. In theory his job’s done; he’s put the team out there and now all he has to do is watch and regurgitate supportive platitudes to the press.

He doesn’t know if every GM who used to play feels the same way, but for Patrick, it’s not easy to turn this part of himself off. The part that wants to dissect every decision he’s made and then figure out how to be better.

What trade he could have made differently to win in four. Or five or six. Who he could have hired as an addition to the coaching staff to make that tiny bit of difference on the ice. What conversation he could have had with Spencer to take things in a different direction.

“Pat.”

Patrick blinks, rubbing a hand over his face until the blurry image of Jonny standing in front of him becomes clearer. Jonny offers the beer he’s holding, but Patrick shakes his head.

“Suit yourself,” Jonny says as he drops onto the other end of the couch. “You okay?”

“Jus’ thinking,” Patrick says softly. “About tomorrow.”

“That’s what the beer was for,” Jonny says, but he doesn’t offer it again, just places it on the side table. “To help you relax.”

“I think we’ve all learned that alcohol has never been a good solution to my problems,” Patrick says wearily. It’s true, and they both know it. “Thanks, though.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

Patrick pauses; he doesn’t want to burden Jonny with the weight of another franchise. Not if Jonny doesn’t want to be involved with the Panthers. Patrick’s hidden job offers in jokes, hinted that he wants Jonny on his team, but Jonny’s always sidestepped the answer.

Except Jonny’s seemingly more than happy to be his sounding board. He spent most of February in Patrick’s office while Patrick worked through trades, helped Patrick figure out what the fuck he’s going to do about his blue line, listened while Patrick bitched about the latest staff meeting. And if he’s offering—

“I just keep thinking about what I could have done differently, you know,” Patrick spills, and then it’s a tumble of words about questioning the trades he made, the ones he didn’t, second guessing what he told Spencer about bumping LeBlanc to the second line in game six, questioning playing their goaltender on back to back nights, wondering if Owen’s getting enough sleep, and—

“You can’t play _what if_ all night,” Jonny interrupts. “You can’t change anything now, Pat. It’s up to Spence to figure it out, and the guys on the ice to listen.”

“But—”

“Fine,” Jonny says in his captain voice, and Patrick shuts his mouth. “We’ll do it your way. What happens if you’d passed over Owen? You think you’d still be in the playoffs without him? And what about McAdams? You think he’d be here if you hadn’t drafted Owen? Or what if you hadn’t hired Spence? You’d maybe have a homophobic dick trying to bench Owen every game. You wanna play this game, I can do this all fucking night.”

“Jonny, you know as well as I do that none of that’s gonna matter if we lose. Same shit, different year. You _know_ that.”

“You brought this team from worst in the whole fucking league to what, third in the East? In two years. And maybe in Chicago that wouldn’t be good enough. But we’re in Florida. I think at this point the beats are just glad to still be working.”

Jonny’s got that all too familiar look about him, all steely gaze, trying to bend the world to his will, or at least trying to make the person he’s talking to see some kind of sense. Patrick can’t help but smile; he wonders if Jonny realises that sometimes he still sounds like the captain he hasn’t been in years. That he’s good at figuring out what people need to hear, even if they don’t realise it. That he’s be a good asset to the team, if only to be a sounding board for the kids and their hockey problems.

“You’d be good for them,” Patrick says. Jonny’s brow wrinkles in confusion and okay, maybe he needs to explain his thoughts rather than just try and transmit them telepathically to Jonny. “If you wanted to be like, a mentor or something for the team. You can take the dude out of a hockey club, but he’s always gonna be a great captain.”

“Patrick,” Jonny says. “It’s not that I don’t want to. But you know if you hire me it’ll be like, fifty percent jokes about whose dick I sucked to get the job.”

“I’m hoping it’s mine,” Patrick jokes, trying to break the tension. Because that’s an angle Patrick hadn’t even considered.

“Well,” Jonny says, as though he’s considering the idea. “If it’ll get you to stop _thinking_.”

“You’re not that good, Toews,” Patrick says. Jonny raises an eyebrow.

“History says otherwise,” Jonny says smugly, climbing across the space between them until he’s in Patrick’s lap. And okay, Jonny’s not _wrong_ ; the beard burn Patrick had to hide on their last Cup run was proof of that. But he doesn’t have to be so fucking smug about it, like his mouth is some kind of kryptonite which stops Patrick’s brain from working.

“Then prove yourself right,” Patrick challenges, and Jonny covers his mouth with his own.


	2. february 2033

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jonny’s here?” Patrick asks, because _what_. Spencer nods in reply.
> 
> “I mean, he was kind of cryptic, but he definitely said something about ‘the faces of the franchise’ and then told me about you two yelling each other on the bench because you weren’t passing to him, and then this is a direct quote: ‘and I’ll be fucking passing to him forever now’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just fluff, and no I am not sorry about it.

Patrick isn’t ashamed to say that he’s hiding.

Stupid questions have followed him around for the last two and a half months, but the questions _here_ seem to hit harder than most. Chicago has always been somewhere he considered home, but for the first time in years it feels like he’s on the outside looking in.

Besides, if he has to hear one more comment about the rainbow _88_ hanging in the rafters for one game only, he’s going to lose his shit. He appreciates the support, he really does. But even though there’s been _progress_ , there are still times it feels like the NHL just wants to wave a rainbow flag as a symbol without doing anything to actually change.

So yeah, he’s hiding. It’s peaceful in the maze of hallways that is the United Center, and it’s something that he desperately needs after the morning of microphones being shoved in his face.

He isn’t sure how long he’s been down here when he hears a set of footsteps, but Patrick doesn’t worry he’s being ambushed. He knows these footsteps almost as well as he does his own.

“Thought I might find you here,” Spencer says. “You’re not answering your phone.”

Patrick takes a cursory glance at the screen of his phone, but the signal’s sucked in his particular hallway ever since he was a rookie. The United Center doesn’t change.

“You don’t get enough at looking at yourself at home?” Spencer continues, a grin curling at the corner of his smile. “‘Cause you’re not that pretty.”

Patrick looks back towards the wall, the one where his photo hangs four times. 

_2010, 2013, 2015, 2023_

The first three photos, he sees a team being built and then torn apart over and over. The last one, the only thing he sees is him and Jonny, older but not wiser, and desperately in love.

They’re front and center in the photo, but neither of them are looking at the camera. They’re stuck in their own stupid moment, Jonny with one arm on the cup but eyes for no one other than Patrick. And Patrick—he’s looking right back.

 _So fucking glad to have you_ Jonny had told him, and Patrick had known he’d meant more than on the ice.

“I found someone who disagrees with you,” Patrick says, his fingers brushing against the Jonny in the photo. The Jonny whose smile is all for Patrick Kane.

“Yeah, well, he sent me to find you. So you’re probably right.”

“Jonny’s here?” Patrick asks, because _what_. Spencer nods in reply.

“I mean, he was kind of cryptic, but he definitely said something about ‘the faces of the franchise’ and then told me about you two yelling each other on the bench because you weren’t passing to him, and then this is a direct quote: ‘and I’ll be fucking passing to him forever now’.”

Patrick blinks, his brain untangling the meaning in that message and only coming up with one thing. There’s only one statue outside of the United Center with Patrick’s face on it. The same statue where Jonny’s passing him the puck. A statue which they posed in front of for too long in the brutal Chicago summer heat, Jonny’s smile never wavering as he pulled Patrick as close as he dared in front of the photographers.

 _We look good together,_ Jonny had told Patrick once they’d been left alone, and Patrick hadn’t been able to come up with a reply.

It doesn’t take him long to find his way through the maze, but as he steps into the Chicago winter he regrets not grabbing his coat. It’s nothing like Snowmageddon, but the bitter wind never changes, and he tugs his jacket around him in a pointless attempt to make himself warmer.

“Thought you didn’t want to come to Chicago,” Patrick says, his smile widening with every step he takes towards Jonny. He’s so fucking gone over this dumb Canadian, but he doesn’t care. Jonny’s _here_.

“Well,” Jonny starts, wrapping Patrick into his arms. “I was kinda hoping I’d run into Patrick Kane. Maybe give him my number now that he’s into guys. I heard he’s into ex hockey player types.”

“Missed you too,” Patrick mumbles into Jonny’s neck. Five days without Jonny has felt like five years. “And I’ll have you know, I’m into one ex hockey player type.”

“Good,” Jonny mumbles back. “Not into sharing.”

Patrick raises an eyebrow against Jonny’s coat, but doesn’t say a word. Jonny’s warm, and soft, and strong, and Patrick doesn’t want to leave his arms. Except—

“Can we go inside? It’s fucking freezing out here.”

“Patience, young padawan,” Jonny tells him. “‘Cause the last time we were here, there was something I didn’t get to do.”

Patrick doesn’t get the chance to ask _what_ before Jonny’s kissing him, soft and sweet and perfect. Patrick curls his hands in Jonny’s coat, pulling Jonny closer, trying to—

“Fuck _off_ ,” Patrick says, pulling away as Jonny’s fingers trail across his jaw. “Jesus, Jonny, your hands are like ice.”

“Well, if someone hadn’t spent so long wishing his hair still looked as good as it did twenty years ago—”

“That’s rich coming from you, Mr _I-Visited-Mexico-Three-Years-Ago-For-A-Miracle-Cure_. And by the way, it didn’t work.”

Twenty years ago, Jonny would have taken the chirping to heart. Now he looks at Patrick with love, the smile plastered across his face the one that’s only ever directed at Patrick himself. Patrick smiles back, tucking his own hands into Jonny’s pockets, pulling him closer until they’re nose to nose.

“I do love you, you know? Despite the hair.”

“Never doubted it,” Jonny says resolutely, in a tone that invites no arguments. “Love you too, asshole.”

“Hey!” Patrick exclaims, hitting Jonny in the chest, but Jonny just laughs and tugs him closer, and Patrick realises that _this_ is what feels like home now. Not Chicago, not Florida, just having Jonny by his side. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Couldn’t leave you to face the vultures alone,” Jonny says softly, tucking Patrick’s hand into his own pocket, and Patrick doesn’t even have the heart to tell him that the worst of it is already over. He just tucks himself into Jonny’s side like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and listens to Jonny bitch about O’Hare as they walk back inside the building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Patrick checks his email after the game, he’s surprised to see an email from Natalie with no subject line. The only message is _Don’t worry, these are just for you!_ and three attachments.
> 
> They’re all photos of him and Jonny outside the UC; the first is Patrick wrapped in Jonny’s arms, the second is them kissing, and the third is Jonny looking at Patrick like he’s everything he ever wanted.
> 
> He wants to tell her thank you, but when he turns around she’s deep in conversation with Mac, and he doesn’t want to interrupt.
> 
> _thanks_ he types back _i owe you one :)_

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "Every You Every Me" by Placebo.


End file.
